


Summertime Sadness

by CharlotteV



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community Project, F/M, Pack, Peter is kind of a romatic, Pydia, Pydia Pack, Road Trip, Summer, kind of post 3b but not really cannon compliet? (people are dead), not really but kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteV/pseuds/CharlotteV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia knows it's a bad idea. She's smart enough to know why, knows that she should talk herself out of it, even knows that she was raised better to just run away from her problems. And she shouldn't go. She shouldn't because the pack will want to know where she is...her parents will want to know...She doesn't have anything with her. Not even her cell phone. Just a black dress she wore to her best friends funeral, a pearl necklace, and a pair of highheels. </p><p>But she goes. And she can't say why.</p><p>Or, the time Lydia disappears for an entire summer with Peter Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summertime Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> The idea came for this while listening to Lana Del Rey's “Summertime Sadness”. I don't know why, it's just always kind of struck me as a Pydia song. I think it's the background music...it's beautiful, but kind of eerie at the same time. Anyway, some of the lyrics are scattered into parts of the fic but it's not exactly a songfic.
> 
> I've avoided writing Pydia because I don't think I ever get their voices down right so I hope this isn't a total failfic.

She's beautiful.

The way she is now, bare feet sliding across the sand, pale arms stretched above her head, hips rolling slowly to the beat of the music. She's dressed in black, a dress that flows down just above her knees, hugging her curves in the soft breeze. Her bright red hair shines in the moonlight, cascades over her shoulders, glows against silk.

She looks older, like this. Brave and independent...not seventeen and scared. He knows, in the back of his mind that she's a woman, but he can see it now. Can see it in the way her eyes open slowly, lashes dusting over cheekbones, dark green focusing on him.

And he gives in, because he's never been able to resist her. He steps up behind her, hands settling on her waist, and her arms fall around his neck easily, drawing him in closer. He tucks his head down by hers, his nose following the shell of her ear, and he just hears her when she whispers: _“Nothing scares me anymore.”_

 

**3 Months Earlier**

Nothing is okay after Allison's funeral.

The pack gathers at Derek's loft, because they need each other now more than ever...they're clinging to each other, mourning their loss with the only people who really know. Who really understand. Lydia's parents are angry, fighting with each other over who she should be with, but this is where she is.

Only...she's sitting alone. Because Derek is comforting Stiles, and Scott and Isaac are comforting each other, and Kira is there but she's trying to help with everything so that no one else has to move, and Lydia feels her heart breaking because _this_ is all that's left. This is how small their pack is now.

She wants to scream suddenly, so bad that it pulls at her soul deep in her gut and she's on her feet in moments, shoving through the front doors, down until she's outside and on her knees in the grass, opening her mouth but no sound comes out...not one...

It's silent. Silent like the pain that rips through her body with each caught breath, silent like the air around her when she turns back to smile but realizes her best friend isn't actually following her, silent like they have all been since they left the cemetery.

“You won't be able to scream,” a voice says from behind her, but Lydia doesn't look back. She stays on her knees, staring down at the dark ground, her heart hammering in her chest while she tries to get her breathing under control. “I would ask if you are okay but that seems like a fairly pointless question.”

“Why do you care?” Lydia's almost surprised by the sound of her own voice, because it's been so long since she's actually spoken. She stands slowly, dusts her knees off, then twists around to stare at Peter Hale.

He's leaning on the building casually, hands folded over his chest, eyes glowing a soft shade of blue in the streetlights. He shrugs after a moment of simply staring at her. “I don't, not really. But this...degree of sadness hanging all over everything...it's depressing. Especially when everything else is starting to smell like summer...”

“Summertime Sadness,” Lydia muses, the words rolling off her lips before she squares her shoulders and runs her fingers through her hair a few times. She was going to walk back inside, brush Peter off and end their conversation now, but she ends up distracted by the way he's looking at her. “What?”

He cocks his head slowly, calculating eyes looking her over. “You look like a wolf...trapped and ready to run...”

“I don't have anywhere to go.”

Peter steps off the wall then, crossing the distance between them until his feet are just in front of hers. His hand raises, moving to cup her cheek, but Lydia pulls back. Not far, but enough that his fingers never touch her skin...ghost across, there but not there, just out of reach. “I can take you away...from all of this...even just for a little while. Right now.”

Lydia knows it's a bad idea. She's smart enough to know why, knows that she should talk herself out of it, even knows that she was raised better to just run away from her problems. And she shouldn't go. She shouldn't because the pack will want to know where she is...her parents will want to know...She doesn't have anything with her. Not even her cell phone. Just a black dress she wore to her best friends funeral, a pearl necklace, and a pair of highheels. 

“I need to pack.”

“We'll by you new things.”

She goes.

***

_“Cruising down the coast going bout ninety-nine.”_

Peter finds, after a month, that he loves the way Lydia sounds when she laughs. When she really laughs. It bursts out of her like bells, a sound that should be magical all on it's own. She throws her head back when she does it, closes her eyes, and her smile always lingers.

She's sitting in the passenger seat of the black convertible – a car he let her pick out for the trip – her bare feet are hanging over the door, she's twisted enough that her head rests on his shoulder, red hair flowing through the wind out behind them.

Her perfectly manicured fingers reach out to press against the radio, but she doesn't change the song. “Got my bad baby by my heavenly side,” she whispers the lyrics, and he can't help the smirk that tugs against his lips. “I know if I go...I'll die happy tonight.”

Lydia's hand drops away from the dials, falls gently against his knee, and she hums contently as he turns down another road. Salt water carries through the air the closer they get, perfect with the hot sun bearing down on them.

Her head tilts slightly, lips gazing across his jawline in a feeling that he leans into, the scent of strawberry lipgloss and spiked lemonade becoming something he associates with only her.

It's better than the smell of heartbreak.

***

Lydia likes to dress up. 

She fixes her hair, does her makeup, steps into something he bought her. Today it's evergreen, a cocktail dress, one that makes her eyes stand out like emeralds. She twirls in their hotel room, jewels throwing light in every direction. 

She smiles at Peter when he wears a suit, links her arms through his when he takes her downstairs, expects him to buy her a drink and he does...vintage white wine, because she would accept nothing less. 

No one questions her age when she dresses up, because Lydia knows how to act...how to carry herself, how to speak, and this dress accents her curves...the heels make her tall...the wine makes her sophisticated. The men look at her, but it's only Peter who gets to touch.

She gives it to him in tastes...lets him rest his hand on her lower back as he pulls out her seat for her, lets their fingers brush when they both reach for their drinks at the same time, nudges his foot with hers under the table. 

He should feel bad, when she's had three glasses and he doesn't cut her off. He should feel worse when she takes his hand after dinner, when she lifts up on her toes to whisper in his ear, when her hot breath brushes across his cheek. _“I'm on fire...I feel it everywhere...”_

It should feel wrong when his lips find her neck, when evergreen silk gathers at her feet, when highheels never come off. It should feel wrong when skin touches skin, when her head falls back and moans roll off her lips, when the wolf in him howls.

It should feel wrong.

But it doesn't.

***

Peter likes to touch her.

He likes to brush her hair back off her neck with his nose, soft as he can. He likes to run his fingers down her arms, featherlight. He likes to take her hand, slid his fingers between hers, feel her squeeze him gently.

He likes the way she looks when she rolls over, green eyes opening to look at only him. He likes the way she plays with his hand, absentmindedly, thoughts already swirling through her mind. “Is it weird?” she asks. “The Banshee and the Werewolf?”

Peter hums in consideration, laying his head against her pillow, close enough to kiss but never daring. He's not allowed to kiss her, not on the lips, that's the rule. “Do you know the story about the sun and the moon?”

“It sounds sad.” He can hear the concern in her voice, see her eyes start to harden. Because that's the whole point of this trip, isn't it? Not to be sad? He leans forward just a little, enough that he can press his lips against her forehead. 

“It's not,” he promises, and she shifts in her spot until she's laying across him, her head against his chest, and he moves his free hand to run through her hair. “The moon craved the sun for her warmth...desired her for her happiness...loved her for her ability to care. The sun craved the moon for his mystery...desired him for his logic...loved him for his ability to protect. But they were different...so different, in fact, that one could only be in the sky at a time.”

Lydia twisted around, moving enough that she could look up at him. “How is this not sad?” she asked.

Peter smiled, slowly. “Because, little girl, one cannot exist without the other. They need each other...to remain whole...and even the sun and the moon, who the universe has tried to keep apart, find ways to be together. Even if just for a little while.”

She smiles at that, her gaze never leaving his, before she eventually closes her eyes. “Think I'll miss you forever,” she whispers.

And drifts to sleep.

 

**Present**  
 _“I got my red dress on tonight”_

Lydia's playing it again, what he's decided is their song. Summertime Sadness. He leans against the convertible, arms folded over his chest, watches her move across the beach. They're supposed to be going home...but she asked him...just one more time.

_“ Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight”_

She's beautiful.

_Done my hair up real big beauty queen style_

The way she is now, bare feet sliding across the sand, pale arms stretched above her head, hips rolling slowly to the beat of the music. She's dressed in black, a dress that flows down just above her knees, hugging her curves in the soft breeze. Her bright red hair shines in the moonlight, cascades over her shoulders, glows against silk.

_“High heels off, I'm feeling alive”_

She looks older, like this. Brave and independent...not seventeen and scared. He knows, in the back of his mind that she's a woman, but he can see it now. Can see it in the way her eyes open slowly, lashes dusting over cheekbones, dark green focusing on him.

And he gives in, because he's never been able to resist her. He steps up behind her, hands settling on her waist, and her arms fall around his neck easily, drawing him in closer. He tucks his head down by hers, his nose following the shell of her ear, and he just hears her when she whispers: _“Nothing scares me anymore.”_

And he knows what she means. Knows that she's ready to go home now. But he lets the song finish, because even if she's ready...he's not ready to let her go yet. So he twirls her around, laughs when she pulls him into a dip, catches her just before she hits the ground.

And she smiles at him.

And he wants to kiss her, he wants it so bad it pulls at his soul, and she's looking at him like she wants it too...but she never grants her permission...so he lifts her back up, onto her feet, and takes her hand.

Because it's time to go home.

***  
Her parent's are furious.

Peter doesn't care, knows Lydia doesn't either, but he can hear the bickering long before he stops the convertible in front of her home. She sits there, for a moment longer, poised and perfect beside him. The summer disappears in a wave of smoke, just like that.

She looks impossibly young and yet grown up all at the same time, and Peter feels like there should be something here...something more. But there just isn't.

She moves with all the grace Lydia Martin has always owned, fluid and up the steps in Just a black dress she wore to her best friends funeral, a pearl necklace, and a pair of highheels. Like nothing ever happened. Like time had simply stopped.

And he stalls for a moment...because it should feel right, to start the car and drive away. It should feel right to leave her and leave the memories behind and never look back.

It should feel right.

But it doesn't.

And then she's there, red hair falling into his lap as she leans over the door, presses her lips against his. It's a gentle kiss, plush and soft lips moving under his, even when she leans forward and he places a hand on her head it stays like that. 

She pulls back, but keeps her forehead against his, eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around the door that she's holding onto. “I just wanted you to know...”

“I know.”

Even the sun and the moon find ways to be together. Even if just for a little while.


End file.
